


The Barter Economy

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-19
Updated: 2011-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 03:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The tricky thing about owing someone a favor is you don't get to choose the currency."</p><p>Set during 2.15. Probably makes most sense if you've seen 2.16 too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Barter Economy

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: implies potential future dubcon (not Neal/Moz).
> 
> Many thanks to dragonfly and samjohnsson for beta. <3

Mozzie was installing glass vacuum tubes—acquired through a little-known Danish supplier in the East Village, since the eBay Europe ones had been defective—into his replica World War II radio when Neal arrived home.

"I think this is my greatest masterpiece," announced Mozzie, pleased to have an audience who'd appreciate his genius, but Neal didn't reply. He made a beeline for the wine rack instead, where he selected a Merlot, opening and pouring it with more efficiency than flair. He pulled off his tie and wandered across to the table, swirling his glass, to loom over Mozzie, apparently indifferent to Mozzie's hard work.

Mozzie didn't really mind. He knew from long observation that being Neal Caffrey was a complicated business, and that was doubly true now Neal was tethered by his tracking anklet to the narrow treacherous line between brilliant con artist and government lackey.

But it wasn't the conflicting demands of Suits and vocation that were troubling him this time—or not directly. At least, not if his opening gambit were anything to go by. He sat down across from Mozzie, drank from his glass and asked, "What do you think of Sara Ellis?"

"Ah," said Mozzie, holding up his screwdriver. "There is nothing so dangerous as a rose, for the unwary see only buds and take no heed of the cruel entrapping thorns."

That won him a faint smile but no attempt to guess the source. Neal put his glass on the table and tilted it, as if appreciating the wine's hues. "I owe her a favor," he said, not looking up. "When she helped us catch Larsen, I said I owed her."

He was trying to make it sound inconsequential, but Mozzie knew him better than that. "Has she called it in?"

"Not yet." Neal drank again and went to refill his glass. He brought the bottle back with him this time. "Not explicitly."

Mozzie raised his eyebrows.

"There's a vibe," said Neal.

"Ah." The dangerous Ms. Ellis was dangerously charmed. Mozzie silently thanked the cosmos for sparing him the burden of beauty. "You could return the Raphael."

"I assumed that was what she was after, but she hasn't mentioned it." Neal flicked his fingernail against the glass, making it chime softly. "The tricky thing about owing someone a favor is you don't get to choose the currency."

"Do you have any idea what else she might want from you, if not the Raphael?" Mozzie tightened a screw, then glanced up in time to catch Neal's telling grimace. "Oh."

Neal sighed and leaned back in his chair. "And I can't exactly ask her if it's romance or commerce."

"Hell hath no fury," Mozzie agreed. If Neal offended Sara Ellis, there was no telling what she'd do; she'd already submitted him to a lie detector test and tried to have him arrested. "You know, one has to admire the artistry with which you can paint yourself into a corner."

"Thanks for the sympathy, Moz." Neal ran his hand through his hair, bringing disorder to the neat waves.

Mozzie returned his gaze to the radio. "Do you want it to be romance?"

"She sleeps with a gun under her pillow." Neal's chair legs scraped against the floor. "She carries a baton in her purse."

Mozzie considered. "That doesn't necessarily—"

"I've seen her use it, and it wasn't self-defense." Neal certainly didn't sound enamored.

Mozzie decided to test a private theory. He looked up. "The Suit carries a gun," he said, blandly.

Neal's gaze flicked away, his worries about Sara Ellis smoothing into something deliberately vague, Mozzie thought. His tone became offhand. "That's different."

Well, that answered that, or started to. It also made the situation with Sara Ellis even more delicate. Mozzie put down his tools and went to get himself a wineglass, since Neal was too preoccupied to mind his manners. "You want me to drop a hint?" Neal stilled and his eyes widened slightly, so Mozzie clarified where he shouldn't have needed to. "To the lovely Ms. Ellis."

Neal dropped his chin in response, both acknowledging that he'd betrayed himself and conveying silent gratitude to Mozzie for not pursuing it.

Mozzie smiled, struck as he sometimes was by how eloquent a simple gesture could be when you'd known someone for nearly a decade. He sat down and set his wineglass on the table, out of the circle of wire cutters and antique parts.

"Tread lightly, okay?" said Neal, his hand on the Merlot bottle. "I can't afford to antagonize her."

"Got it. Do not rouse the coiled dragon, for her vengeance will be swift and sure." Mozzie picked up a pair of needle-nose pliers and pretended to turn his full attention to the radio.

"Tolkien?" hazarded Neal, doubtfully.

Mozzie experienced a small smug glow, though it wasn't really fair. "Me. I've been reading Liu Xie in translation."

Neal drained his wine again and filled both their glasses. "Thanks, Moz."

"What are friends for?" Mozzie raised his glass in salute. "Now ask me about my day."

Neal shook his head, smiling. "How's the antenna coming along? Anything I can do to help?"

"Now that you mention it—" If Neal needed something to take his mind off his love life, Mozzie was happy to oblige. He pushed some wire strippers, a capacitor and a length of twenty-two gauge copper wire across the table. "Some of the used parts I found need TLC."

"What are friends for?" Neal was already rolling up his shirt sleeves. He pushed the wine bottle to one side, picked up the capacitor and turned it over in his hands, examining the corrosion.

He didn't even complain when Mozzie started humming.


End file.
